


The City that Never Sleeps

by goldpeak



Category: White Collar
Genre: Best Friends, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Hospital, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Near Death Experiences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-13 19:41:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15371910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldpeak/pseuds/goldpeak
Summary: Alternate ending to the finale.Neal Caffrey gets shot, as he had intended, but his plan fails and he actually takes a bullet. A harrowing near-death experience dredges up lots of emotions and he really just needs a hug from his best friend, Peter Burke.





	The City that Never Sleeps

Physical contact holds a mass of power. A tap on the hand, a touch on the arm, a head on the shoulder. It’s also something Neal has been deprived off for almost his entire life.

Growing up, his dad wasn’t touchy-feely... for the short time he was around. His mom, disconnected from reality, didn’t spare much time for him. Ellen gave him hugs and ruffled his hair, sure, but he never felt the gentle touch of a father.

One could argue that he gets plenty of touches from girls. Objectively, that’s true. However, not in the way Neal subconsciously craves. They may run their hands through his hair in the morning, or trace their fingertips down his chest, but none of Neal’s relationships had been long-lasting enough to warrant hugs, or lazy cuddles, or much of anything.

Except Kate. The lazy afternoons and evenings curled up on the couch with her were one of Neal’s favorite things about their relationship. He’d have his arms around her, tracing his fingertips over her skin, his head rested against hers. She’d lean back and pepper kisses to his neck, his collarbones, his shoulders, and then she’d tell him how much she loved him while her thumb brushed across his cheekbone.

The bottom line is that Neal craves affection. Since Kate’s death, he’d had multiple relationships. They were nice. He liked all of the girls, a lot. He still wished Sarah was around, he would always miss the _idea_ of Rebecca (the reality, not so much) and Alex... he always held a special place in his heart for the thin brunette.

After the chaos of the last few weeks – Keller, getting shot – more specifically, his plan going awry and him actually taking a bullet.

He was convinced that his last words to Peter would be the ones he said as he was loaded into the ambulance.

To his surprise, they were not.

-

It was late when he woke up again. Very late. Close to midnight, if the time on the TV mounted on the wall was correct. The... TV mounted on the wall? He didn’t have a TV on the...

He looked around. He didn’t have a nightgown in his personal possession either. Nor a hospital bed, or a morphine drip.

The lights were off, and the TV cast an eerie glow over the room. The... empty room. The blue and orange hues from the local news station’s broadcast danced around the tile and the stark white walls. The newscasters’ mouths were moving, but no sounds emerged. It was muted.

The window to his left looked out over a dark city. As dark as New York could ever get. The sky, the darkest blue that the pollution would allow, spanned out as far as Neal could see – the stars twinkling as bright as the window-lights in every single high-rise in the city.

The city that never sleeps was a correct nickname.

After taking in his surroundings, Neal took in himself. He was clothed in just a hospital gown – to his horror – and none of his personal artifacts were on him. Not his watch – not his anklet.

His first thought was _“Escape!”_ but he banned that instinct from his mind.

His second thought was _“Where is everybody?”_ His room was, as he had noticed, empty.

He looked towards the door – a yellow stream of light poured in through the tiny glass cutout near the top. As he watched, a face passed in front of it – a familiar face.

Neal raised one of his hands to wave as a tired smile graced his face – but his arm was stopped short with a metal clank.

Looking down alarmedly, Neal threw the blanket back to reveal two sets of handcuffs – one on each wrist, with the other end attached to the metal frame of the hospital bed.

He tried to move his legs, just to find his ankles, too, were chained.

A wave of panic surging up inside him, he let out a strangled cry as he wrenched his arm too hard.

The handle on the door clicked and the body attached to the familiar face rushed into the room, straight to Neal’s bedside.

“Neal, Neal! Hey. Stop struggling, okay? You’re fine,” Peter soothed, placing a hand on Neal’s shoulder.

His movements stuttered as the warmth from Peter’s hand seeped into his skin.

“P-Peter?” he croaked out, his voice terribly raspy. “Wha- they have me chained up?”

“They took your anklet off for your surgery,” Peter explained slowly, his eyes searching every inch of Neal’s face. His brow was creased in concern – lines that only deepened when he saw the staggered rise and fall of the boy’s chest, coupled with the red-rimmed eyes. “I tried to talk them out of it. I’m sorry.”

Neal was about to complain further but stopped himself. Peter didn’t need to hear it. He didn’t even have the energy to argue.

At no complaint from Neal, Peter’s worry only grew. He wasn’t fighting back?

He realized his palm was still on Neal’s shoulder, so he retracted his hand. Neal stirred again, jerking his hand up and wincing when the cuff dug into his wrist.

“Peter...” he looked up, eyes still glossy and red, “I-.”

“You got shot,” Peter said, fighting to keep his voice still. “We all thought you’d died. We thought you did die.”

“I didn’t die,” Neal murmured.

“Nope.”

“I didn’t die.” Neal said, once more. He laughed dryly.

“You didn’t. Thank God. If you’d died, I would’ve killed you.” Peter said, hesitating before a chuckle emerged from his throat. “I was worried, kid. We all were.”

“All?”

“Mozzie, Elizabeth, Jones, Diana. They’re all here. Outside. I wanted to be the first one in when you woke up, even before the doctors.” Peter said with a slight smile. “Neal... if you ever get yourself shot again, I swear-.”

“You’ll kill me?” Neal rasped.

“Yeah,” Peter said again, his voice cracking a bit. He cleared his throat to cover it. “You’re gonna... you’re gonna be fine. You’ll be in here a while, though. The bullet went right past your heart. It’s... you really almost died, kid.”

“How long?” Neal questioned.

“You went into surgery about 15 hours ago. You got out 7 ago.” Peter chuckled again. “I’m gonna have to buy your doctors coffee. You took them 8 hours.”

“Sorry,” the conman murmured.

Peter hesitated before reaching out and ruffling Neal’s hair in what was clearly meant to be a friendly, teasing gesture. Peter hadn’t expected Neal to lean into the touch, but he did, so he left his hand resting behind Neal’s head with an awkward cough.

When Peter’s hand stilled, Neal became aware that he had unconsciously leaned into the man’s touch. His cheeks turning rosy, he cursed himself in his head.

He’d always been able to control his desire for touch, but apparently almost dying made you a little more emotional. Maybe the morphine did that, too.

“Do you want to see everyone else?” Peter asked, tentatively taking back his hand.

Neal nodded, not looking Peter in the eye for fear of the man seeing his still-teary eyes. He reached up to wipe some of the emotions away – but his handcuff clanked.

“Neal.” Peter said, not roughly - but strongly.

Slowly, he dragged his line of sight to meet Peter in the eye just as a stray tear escaped and ran down his cheek.

“Neal,” Peter said again, softer his time. He reached out and wiped away the tear with his thumb.

Neal bit his lip and looked away again.

“Do you need a minute before everyone else comes in?” Peter asked quietly.

Neal nodded, but jerked his head up as Peter turned to leave. He said, hurriedly, “You can stay- if you, you know, want to.”

Peter smiled tiredly, dragging a chair over to Neal’s bedside and sitting down facing the injured conman.

“Peter, I-,” Neal said, shifting his hand a few inches so that it was near Peter. The other man placed his own on top and squeezed it reassuringly. “When I said... what I said.”

“When you were being put into the ambulance,” Peter nodded.

“I meant it.”

“I know you did, Neal.”

“It wasn’t just some fear-induced thought, or panicked musing...” Neal shook his head sadly, another tear falling. “I really meant it.”

“I know.” Peter squeezed his hand again, thumb brushing over it.

Suddenly, Neal just couldn’t take it. He moved his gaze back up to Peter before breaking into tears. He immediately turned away from Peter, embarrassed beyond belief by the pitiful whimpers leaving his throat. He tried his hardest to get himself under control, teeth digging into his lip, but was unsuccessful - tears still fell as his injured chest heaved.

“Neal, Neal, shh,” Peter hushed, leaning forward and placing both hands on Neal’s shoulders. “Neal, look at me. C’mon. Neal.”

He inhaled, breath catching in his throat as he turned his head to look at Peter, as requested.

At the sight of Neal’s pained, broken expression, Peter felt his eyes get a little wet.

He exhaled, his teeth worrying at his own lip. He pulled a key from his pocket and quickly undid both of Neal’s arm restraints before reaching down and wrapping his arms around the boy as gently as he could.

Neal responded instantly, snaking his own arms up to grab at Peter’s jacket and shoulder – whatever he could reach to ground himself. The smell of Peter’s cologne surrounded him and he tipped his head forward, burrowing into Peter’s shoulder as sobs heaved through his body.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into Peter’s jacket. “I’m sorry – I don’t know why I’m-.”

“Stop it, Neal,” Peter said, his voice gravel-like with emotion. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

The seconds seemed to stretch on eternally. The only sound alongside Neal’s sniffling was the rhythmic beep of the machines the man was attached to.

“I love you, Peter,” Neal said ever-so-quietly, his voice crackly through his tears. “You’re my- you’re my best friend.”

“I know,” the other man nodded, tightening his grip around the CI. “I know, buddy. I love you too. We all do.”

 


End file.
